She Said, He Said
by Booyakalicious
Summary: Short, one shot -ish. Post- game, and Seifer's back at Garden. Quistis has some lessons in mind for him, but there's some problems preventing that...


Disclaimer: These characters, despite my toying with, are property of Square Enix.

_She said..._

I never mean to get lost in the forest of his eyes, fearing that I may never be able to find my way out of their depths. Everyone says that eyes are the windows to the soul, yet the view through his is not nearly so clear. His soul is simply too far gone, having lost its way long ago. It became oblivious and blind to the concepts of decency, kindness and consideration, and now clearly guided by insolence, fearlessness, and corruption. This I have no right to loathe, as I understand that he cannot turn back towards the light. He was her chosen one, and of course, a young man must follow his intuition. No sane man can ignore the scent of a tantalizing woman tainted with the blackest of evil magic, who teases her captive audience with the slightest display of the power that will destroy the world while making past, present and future one and the same. A boy has to become a man, and how better to develop one's manhood than being a sorceress' knight? 

He knew that she would make him a man, and this opportunity he could not ignore. Unfortunately, he did not recognize what price he would pay for this honor.

On the other hand, there was honestly no real expense at stake. Nothing desirable existed within him before, and he desired nothing but to inspire irritation amongst his superiors, and spark tension throughout his comrades' ranks. Both parties were prompted to detest him.

This hate had befallen upon him some time ago, and now rested between those two endless pools of forest in a red scar that had not faded much since the day a fresh wound had been created in a fury of ice driven fire. That scar should be as ugly as his black soul, disgusting as the reciprocal hatred that filled his otherwise empty heart. But I have never thought of it as being hideous. Rather, it is strangely beautiful, complementing his rugged but handsome face set squarely between two wide shoulders atop a perfectly muscular and tall frame. At the same time, it stands in stark contrast to his forest eyes.

In all honesty, I cannot stand those eyes. They reach out to me and always try to pull me far away from my reality and pull me into the endless void of his being, always accompanied by a toothy smirk. He knows exactly what tricks his eyes play on me, and I can't help but note his ecstatic reaction if I stumble upon my words in the middle of a lecture while caught by his gaze, or make other ridiculous errors. He's always amused but will never be satisfied until he reverses the clockwork of my normalcy and order.

I hate distraction, and I hate his audacity... I hate him.

_He said..._

I hate her.

She always tells me that I have zero passion for my craft, and what a shame that is with the potential I obviously hold. Not a week goes by that she so kindly reminds me that I need to apply myself further because I've been one exam away from moving up the ranks for just a bit too long. I would love to see her apply herself to something other than telling me what to do with my blessed youth. My life is too short to accommodate her constant nagging, and these years are supposed to be the best of my life. Her input is definitely not improving my quality of life. I know what passion is. It's what I feel when I prove my strength over weakness of any sort, whether that weakness slinks back in terror accompanied by a pained groan in battle, or seductively submits with a wanting moan in my dormitory room.

Her own life seems bleak and empty, as always droning on through her lectures and coldly displaying her prowess during field demonstrations. Not once have I seen her smiling when explaining new concepts in class, or eagerly helping her more incompetent students master certain battle techniques. To me, it seems that she only cares about the facts and rules, and living her life in strict accordance to them. Honestly, she has no place to be speaking about things like passion, and especially to me of all people.

It would be so easy to just dismiss her as a simple annoyance in my life, but unfortunately, she is otherwise so perfect. Perfectly uptight, in other words, tightly clad in her official black uniform which hugged her slender body. The ensemble left nothing to the imagination, especially her slight curves which would have otherwise been forgotten. It is incredibly hilarious how annoyed she gets with her aspiring entourage sighing at her beauty and bemoaning her lack of attention to their pathetic lovesick antics, as if she really is clueless how attractive she appears. In the midst of her profession and official life she seems to forget that she is a woman.

Especially unaware is she of the swing in her hips as she slowly rises from her seat at her desk to point something out to the class. Dismayed as always, she glares at the students whose eyes follow the movement of those hopelessly disguised hips resting at the base of a subtle hourglass figure slowly sifting the blasted sands of class time, and not the pointer she wields in her right hand. Her ice blue eyes always coldly rest upon my innocent face the longest. They relay to me the same message : annoyance, desperation, and amazement. And as always, she seems to reach for a part of me which nobody will ever be able to touch. This in particular makes me feel even more bitter towards her, because she should know she will never be able to penetrate that part of my consciousness. It no longer exists in any real sense, as it was locked up long ago and left to decay

There's no way to touch that part of me, but Hyne, I would like to touch her. I know she holds a deep desire for that damn ice queen, however, she really should not bother. His pretty little head is riddled with prepubescent musings beyond the concept of her existence and her favorable emotions toward him, none of which he is eager to share with anyone. For this, he may pass off to her as being deep and sensitive, but I know that his silence and over active imagination have rendered him a prick. He's entirely oblivious to her, not only because he's under the spell of his own little witch, but also because he's such a little bitch.

Fuck, that woman is so untouchable, and I hate what I cannot have.


End file.
